I have worked for years with men.   When things go awry on a ranch, which is
quite often, they will generally vent their frustrations with a flow of
cuss words.   I get frustrated too, but my folks raised me to be a lady.
Therefore, I have my own "dialect"when cursing.

Cursin' The Yearlins'

We began the trail quite early.   We were out before the dawn.
The group saddled up the horses, headed out with several yawns.

We spread around the pasture to encircle that young herd.
It was time to move the yearlins'.   Of a run, we were assured.

The yearlins' are like human teens, more energy than sense.
The smallest noise, the slightest move will make them scared and tense.

We made it through the first run and kept them in control.
We settled into trailin'.   I rode forward on patrol.

I was lookin' for stray cattle that might get in the way.
We didn't want no mixin' or we'd not get done today.

A couple miles later, the herd headed up the hill.
Quakies* grew on either side.   The lead began to mill.

Comin' up before us was a canyon, long and steep.
Just before we got there, in a fog began to creep.

I was ridin' up on point when I saw the lead steer go.
He headed into aspens and the canyon down below.

My horse responded quickly to head them back up hill.
But the thickened fog around us made my vision nearly nil.

I began to yell my loudest, to scare them to the trail.
They must be turned around or we will lose them in this vale.

"You chigger-headed flea spit!   You ign'rant snake-eyed hog.
Turn your rattle-headed rock brains ‘round here in this stiflin' fog.

Git back you scrawny horn-fly hosts.   Ya'd better find that trail,
‘cause runnin' down this canyon will come to no avail.

You wanderin' sons of Satan.   You nightmare's blackest dream,"
were only some of things I said, to yearlins' that I screamed.

"You'll not live to make the mountain top, you crusty leather hides."
My threatening spread eerily, echoed in from several sides.

The steers slowed their run, more frightened from the noises all unseen,
and the ghostly shape a movin' in that pea-soup foggy sheen.

We finally got them headed back and strung along the trail.
An hour later sun appeared, through misty and still pale.

When we finally reached the cow camp, an old neighbor said to me:
"I don't believe I've ever heard you cuss so angrily.

I don't believe I've ever heard another cowboy say
quite like you did, the things I heard, while trailin' cows today.

It must'a worked, those things you said, ‘cause we got here with the herd.
Though I admit I felt right creepy when my eyes, by fog, were blurred.

I hope I never have to hear you curse another cow.
I felt real bad a learnin' I just thought that I knew how!"

*Quakies: quaking aspen, a deciduous tree common in the Rocky Mountains

©2005 Terry Henderson